That, crimson-creepered, yawned the bristling curse
Murderous upon her. As her steed grew worse
And, terrified, fled snorting down the dell,
How she had flung herself from out the selle,
In fear, upon a bank of springy moss,
Where she lay swooning: in an utter loss
Of mind and limbs; wherein she seemed to see,
Or saw in horror, half unconsciously,—
As one who pants beneath an incubus
And strives to shriek or move, delirious,—